


Life

by Keiggy



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, Character Death, Gore, Illustrations/Drawings included, Junkenstein, Junkenstein's Monster - Freeform, M/M, Pretentious quoting, Sensitive Material, Suggestive Themes, roadrat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 14:09:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12434460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keiggy/pseuds/Keiggy
Summary: "Why did I not die? More miserable than man ever was before, why did I not sink into forgetfulness and rest? Death snatches away many blooming children, the only hopes of their doting parents; how many brides and youthful lovers have been one day in the bloom of health and hope, and the next a prey for worms and the decay of the tomb! Of what materials was I made that I could thus resist so many shocks, which, like the turning of the wheel, continually renewed the torture?" —'Frankenstein' by Mary Shelley





	1. Harmony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Ｈａｒｍｏｎｙ was the soul of our companionship, and the diversity and contrast that subsisted in our characters drew us nearer together.” —'Frankenstein', Mary Shelley

  Dr. Junkenstein was well known for being a failure. When his wife fell ill, he failed to nurse her to health; when he invented a machine like no other, his lab burned down and his machine with it. His son was queer to look at—ghostly pale and silver-haired—and even queerer in personality. The people of Adlersbrunn had no love for Junkenstein or his family, despite being near royal in status: They were a lineage of gifted individuals who excelled in science and alchemy; they served the lords and ladies of the town's castle for centuries. Science was a powerful thing, and the common people saw it as no different than black magic.

  Junkenstein's son had always shown great interest in science, as did most of his kin. Little Jamison was quiet, but open about his thoughts. His brutal honesty and curious nature alienated most children. He wished he could at least have a friend. One would've been more than enough. But instead, what he got was mockery from the children and gossip from their parents. _'I heard his father poisoned him as a babe, that's why he looks so ghostly’_ ; _'Pastor Shaw says he's possessed by a demon'_ ; _'Poor thing was stillborn until his father shocked him to life'._ The old wives' whispers hurt, for the young child appreciated truth above anything else, and their words were no more than tall tales. Sometimes he cursed them and their children. There was no need for them to be so cruel.

 

  One day, little Jamison wandered into the outer parts of the village. The farmlands were peaceful; full of orchards and animals rather than whispers and bullies. Jamison skipped and laughed as he played with the automated toy he had built with his father. The little robot walked down the path on its own, but as soon as it tripped over a rock it failed to get back up. Jamison walked over to it, and as he knelt to pick it up, he felt eyes on him. He looked to his left, and sure enough, behind poorly made gates, there was a child not much older than he was with a piglet in his arms, looking at him. Jamison clutched his toy tightly as he stood up straight. He stared at the other boy, and the boy stared back. The piglet snorted.

  "You're fat," said Jamison bluntly. He didn't mean to offend—he never did.

  "Your hair's white," said the boy, "And you're skinny. Do you want some bread?"

  "Yeah."

  Friendship between the two children blossomed. Soon enough, Jamison found out the boy's name was Mako. Mako was a farmer's son and the farm they lived in had all sorts of animals. Jamison watched the rats scurry into the walls while Mako presented each piglet and the mama pig to him as if introducing his family members. Each one had a name, and Jamison made sure to remember them. Ruth was the mama; the piglet with the black spot over its eye was Blot; the pale one was Charlie; the black one was Dusk; the one with hundreds of brown and black spots on its body was Pock. Mako was better friends with Pock.

  Some days, Jamison brought paper and quills. He'd write and draw, and he'd tell Mako he'd make him an amazing automated pig toy. Mako drew his piglets and scribbled gibberish over each one, pretending to write in the Lord's fancy lettering. Jamison knew how to read, but not cursive. He thought Mako was brilliant for knowing how to write it.

  One night, they played at monsters and knights. Jamison had made Mako a pig mask out of papier-mâché, and Mako had fallen in love with it. When they played, Mako wore it and claimed to be the Terrifying Pig-Man. Jamison had written with mud the word _'TERROR'_ across his stomach and when Mako asked what it said, Jamison realized he was illiterate. So the following day, Jamison tried his best to teach his friend how to read and write. A week later, Mako had given Jamison a crudely written letter. Jamison never lost any of Mako’s letters.

_’JAMISEN IS MY BEST FREND'_

  On a cool autumn night, Jamison found Mako crying under a tree, wearing the mask he'd made for him (Mako always had the mask with him). When Jamison asked what was wrong, Mako could barely speak. "Papa killed Ruth," he sobbed. Jamison didn't know what to do. He'd dealt with grief once, but he was too young back then—he didn't remember how he coped with the loss of his mother. So he sat down next to Mako, placed a hand around his shoulder, and leaned against him.

 

  As the years passed, the two never grew apart. Jamison spoke more and Mako spoke less. The two were almost inseparable, and the townsfolk found it strange. Mako and Jamison didn't understand half the mockery. They were used to the usual insults, but the people saw something else in them they didn't quite grasp. Jamison began to see something in Mako too.

 

  The older they got the busier they were. Mako with his farm, and Jamison with his inventions and studies. Where they used to play as children under the sun now was where they would lay at night to watch the stars. On one such night, Jamison told Mako of the stars that made up pictures and stories—constellations, they were called. "There's one you're like to love," Jamison smiled, pointing at the stars, " _The Boar_. A magnificent beast sent by the gods to punish men thousands of years ago. You see it? Right there." Mako let out a deep breath. Now, Mako was quiet, but not _that_ quiet—not when the subject of a conversation involved his favorite animal. Jamison sat up and looked at Mako. He was wearing the mask. Mako wore the mask when he wanted to hide feelings from showing on his face. "You alright?"

  Mako hummed and sat up as well. He reached for his pocket, hand trembling. He pulled out a piece of paper, and Jamison noticed his ears were red. Jamison reached for Mako's hands. He knew this routine: when Mako was too shy to say what he wanted to say, he would write it down and hand it to Jamison. Not this time. He held the paper tightly when Jamison tugged at it. Eventually, Jamison convinced him to let go. When he read it, his mouth failed to remain closed.

_'I LOVE YOU JAMISON.'_

  An embarrassed Mako looked at the ground, awaiting the rejection. Yet, Jamison did not say a word. An embrace was enough to tell Mako he felt the same way.

  Love is what it was, and theirs was strong. It was hard to understand, though—how was it that a man could love another man as a man loved a woman? To them, there was no need to understand, but to everyone around them, the need to understand was almost overwhelming and saddening to them. _Let us be._

  Months passed, and Mako kissed Jamison for the first time. It surprised him, but it felt right. So he kissed him back—once, and twice, and then again. Time went by and they never ceased to love each other. Through hugs and moans; scratch marks on their backs and hands held tight while watching starry nights—for years they loved, and what others thought meant nothing.

  On a night of a full moon, Mako told Jamison he found a new constellation. He said the moon and the big, bright star next to it were the _Lovers of Adlersbrunn_. Always together, even on cloudy nights. Jamison laughed and found it endearing. He almost didn't want to tell him the moon wasn't a star. "Might not be a star,” said Jamison, “but it's the most damn beautiful thing in the sky."

 

Then on one summer day, Jamison's father passed away. He spent the night under the same tree from all those years ago, crying and mourning the loss of his only family. Mako held him close, scratching his head the way he loved so much. "Mako," he whispered in a broken voice.

  "Yeah?"

  "Promise me this. Promise you will never, _ever_ leave me."

  "Even in death, I will not leave you."

"Even in death," and that was when the madness began to set in.


	2. Destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It was a strong effort of the spirit of good, but it was ineffectual. Ｄｅｓｔｉｎｙ was too potent, and her immutable laws had decreed my utter and terrible destruction.” —”Frankenstein”, Mary Shelley

Mako's parents were old and dying. He was a man grown and the farm was his responsibility. Throughout most of the day, he worked his land under the scorching sun and tended to the animals. He never butchered his pigs, and they'd all grown to be big and strong. His pig Pock had fallen ill, however. Mako knew Pock wouldn't make it past winter.

He told Jamison about Pock's condition that night as they lay in bed. Jamison clung to Mako and pulled himself up to kiss his neck various times. "I won't let old Pock die," said Jamison lazily as he drifted into sleep on his lover’s chest, "I promise you..."

Jamison talked a lot about life and death as of late. He'd been busy at work creating life-like machines under the Lord's command. His work frustrated him, but he never failed His Lordship. Jamison's behavior concerned Mako. He seemed too passionate, too angry, too loud, too invested in his work. It was as though Dr. Jamison Junkenstein was a different man to his Jamie. He saw as the man he loved spent more time in his lab than with him, how the nights they spent under the stars turned to long, one-sided conversations about the secret of life and individuality, and the idea of keeping one's soul alive for eternity. His father's death affected Jamison in ways Mako failed to understand—especially since he had little love for his own parents. He chose to ignore it. He'd always respected and admired Jamison's passions and brilliance, and he'd continue to do so.

 

Pock died during the first days of winter. Mako lamented the loss, but he didn't weep. Jamison was there with him to comfort him as he buried his old friend in the makeshift cemetery he'd made behind the farm.

The next day, Mako took a long, hard look at the dirt covering the hole. _I won't let old Pock die, I promise you_. It hadn't rained the night before. There were no dogs or cats nearby. There was no reason for the hole to look so different to the day before. _I won't let old Pock die, I promise you._ He shook the memory of Jamison's words from his head. _He wouldn't. He isn't mad,_ he thought, _Jamie isn't a grave-robber._

 

As winter grew colder and harsher, Mako's labor grew harder and longer. One night he felt particularly weak. Jamison slept soundly beside him, but was suddenly jerked awake by the thundering sounds of Mako's intense coughing fit. Jamison looked terrified as he grabbed Mako's hands and asked him a thousand times if he was okay. "Just a cold," Mako coughed, "Nothing more."

Mako had lied. As days passed, his coughing got worse and he refused to believe it. He worked himself harder and it only made things worse.

On the day Mako could not get up, Jamison cried. He held Mako's hand tightly and pressed it against his lips. "No, no, no no, nononono, Mako, don't do this to me. Mako—Mako, you're burning up— _Mako_!"

Hearing Jamison's plea was more painful than the ache that had taken over his body. Mako had been a fool for working himself so hard. He closed his eyes and let out a low groan of pain and regret. "Listen, Mako, _listen._ You'll be okay—you'll be alright, yeah? I'll heal you, I'll nurse you back to health. Then we'll lay under the moon when spring comes. We'll watch the stars again, Mako, just you and I..." Mako let Jamison ramble on. His voice soothed him, and Jamison needed the reassurance.

 

It hurt more than a thousand arrows to see Mako thinner and abed, pale and with sunken eyes. Jamison had not left his side for weeks, but no matter what medicines he concocted, Mako only got worse. Mako would sometimes tell him to stay away, that he'd get sick too. Jamison didn't listen.

Jamison had placed the withered mask he'd made all those years ago next to Mako. He brought the pigs into the room and presented him with one of the newborn piglets. "I named him Pock Junior; see, he looks just like his father—Mako, look." Mako struggled to open his glassy eyes. He smiled and painfully reached to pet the small animal. "He's cute."

"Like you! He'll be big, and strong. You'll see, Mako, you’ll get better and we'll see him grow up together." Jamison placed the piglet on the bed, and it nuzzled up against Mako’s belly. Mako tried to chuckle, but instead he coughed and blood came along and covered his mouth. "Oh no, no, not again," Jamison hurriedly wiped the blood from his lips with the bed sheets—those plump lips he loved so dearly... Jamison leaned forward and kissed Mako. He knew Mako would protest, but he didn't care. He didn't care if he contracted whatever had so cruelly taken over his lover. The kiss was sad and tasted like metal, but he savored it as if it was meant to be the last.

"Jamison?" Mako's voice was smaller than it had ever been.

"Yes?" he caressed Mako's burning face.

"I love you."

Jamison smiled, "I love you too, big guy." Jamison crawled on the bed, holding his lover and the pig in between as the three fell asleep.

Like father, like son—neither could save the one they loved most.


	3. Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “His limbs were in proportion, and I had selected his features as beautiful. Ｂｅａｕｔｉｆｕｌ! Great God!" —’Frankenstein’, Mary Shelley

The morning sky was grey. Not a bird chirped and the wind did not blow. People watched and whispered as the infamous Dr. Jamison Junkenstein pushed a ratty old cart, carrying something big beneath a blanket that reeked of death. He slammed the doors of his home shut behind him, and collapsed in front of the cart. "You never told me you were so heavy," he laughed breathlessly as he gasped for air. He soon got back up and kept pushing the cart to his lab. "Listen, love, I've got a brilliant idea. Remember when we used to play at monsters and knights? You loved it, I remember. The Terrifying Pig-Man! Hah!"

Jamison then unveiled the macabre mess that was in the cart. Proof that the doctor had descended into madness lay before him: poorly wrapped in pieces of cloth were the dismembered limbs of his former lover. He smiled a smile that did not belong to the old Jamison. This was the smile of a man who'd lost everything and was eager to build his own world from scratch.

 

So Dr. Junkenstein began to work on something so morbid and unreal that he kept it a secret from the world. He rebuilt the man he loved like some sort of gruesome puzzle. As he worked he spoke sweetly to it. He spoke of laying on the fields and holding each other closely once again, of kissing and laughing under the softly falling snow. He crafted each and every part with love and care. And with just as much love and care he kept him in perfect condition. He may not have learned to bring him to life just yet, but he'd discovered how to keep the tissue that formed his being alive, and how to keep his organs intact. He'd tested this technology on Pock's corpse, and while the pig did not live, his skin and organs were still fresh. The only side effect he noted as being particularly strange was the green tint the skin had acquired. But he did not mind. He wanted his Mako back.

 

As he worked one night, the doctor suffered a breakdown. No matter how hard he tried, his lover came out looking disproportionate. He'd used Pock's skin and bones on him, but it wasn't enough. He'd run out of skin and muscle and he couldn't just leave him like this. It was Mako, for God's sake, he had to be _perfect!_

In the midst of his rampage, his mind raced and searched for any solution to his problem. The answer came easily when he tugged at his hair. He looked at his fleshy hands and legs. He was smaller than Mako, and thin, but maybe... Maybe he'd be enough. He'd given so much for Mako, at this point it wouldn't make a difference, would it?

He didn't think twice. It was almost easy to make himself a working mechanical arm, but he was too impatient to make a good-looking leg. A week passed. He gave one of his automatons massive clippers with which to amputate himself. He tied tight bands around his right arm and leg, and without a second to prepare his mind, his machine chopped both off with a single clean cut. The bloodcurdling scream he let out was inhuman in volume. The villagers nearby heard it and fled to their houses in fear. He cried and twitched in agony as his machines patched him up as best as they could, installing the mechanical arm and leg to his nerve endings. His snot-filled and teary face twisted into a smile and his sobs turned into mad laughter.

With the meat of his limbs, he finished his creation's body. All that was left was the surprise he’d prepared for his lover.

"You'll l-love this, I pr-promise!" With a slim knife, he began to carve on his creation's belly the word 'TERROR', "Remember? Like wh-when we were young, love, remember that I taught you how to read?" When he was done, he wobbled over to kiss his creation's cold, dead lips. "As much as I l-love your face, I can't quite fig-figure out how to make it look as it once did... But don't worry, Mako, I've made something for you. It’ll work w-well enough..." Jamison went down on his knees and crawled over to where he kept what was left of Pock. On a glass box was a mask made out of Pock's face. He brought the box with him and crawled back to his creation. He carefully adjusted the mask over Mako's dead face, sewing the muscles of his face in place and suddenly, he wasn't Mako anymore. He was the Terrifying Pig-Man: a distorted memory made of dead flesh and bones from years long gone. He was the mad doctor’s twisted version of the child he was friends with and the man he grew to love. He wasn’t human. He was Junkenstein’s monster.

 

The following months were torture for poor Jamison. He barely had time to work on bringing his monster to life now that the Lord of Adlersbrunn demanded more and more from him. Jamison began to hate the man, despite trying his best to impress him. He barely slept, and his mind had broken down into something deprived of love and boiling with the thought of vengeance.

Vengeance on who? The whole of Adlersbrunn had mocked and isolated him and Mako when he was alive. Lord Wilhelm diminished him and his creations. Destiny itself was a wicked monster in the eyes of the doctor, for taking away those dearest to him in such a short life. It seemed to him that everyone and everything he’d ever known deserved to suffer as he had. Anger and hatred filled his heart where once passion and love resided. Frustration and surrender welled up high with every single failure to revive his Mako or to please his Lord.

Then came one fateful night, where he came to show the Lord his latest accomplishments. But yet again he was denied his approval—for to the Lord the machines were no more than laborious trinkets. So Jamison stomped back to his lab, where he prepared to try his latest and quite frankly final attempt to bring his monster to life. He’d tried everything except what powered his automatons: electricity; quite literally what he considered to be the spark of life. “Damn my life for eternity if this doesn’t work…”

With a deep breath, Jamison pulled a lever that shocked his monster’s body. His eyes lit up when he saw twitching, but ultimately…

Nothing. Not a breath, not a single movement.

Tears filled the doctor’s eyes and his heart was torn to pieces. It was useless. He didn’t know what else to do. Mako was gone. Mako was truly gone.

He fell to his knees as he wept as he finally came to the realization that the love of his life was no more.

...And then he felt someone’s presence behind him. _Mako!_ He turned around and froze, his skin turned paler than it already was. Before him stood a woman, beautiful and wicked in appearance, and beside her a headless man with a jack-o-lantern in place instead. He’d read the stories when he was younger, but there was no way… There was no way that before him stood the wicked Witch of the Wilds.

“Dr. Junkenstein,” her voice was smooth as silk—seemingly angelic had it not been for the thin layer of evil that coated it. He was too surprised to respond. “A man who did all within his power to resurrect the love of his life. A truly admirable story, if not pitiful.”

“W-Witch,” Jamison choked on his words, “Why are you here?”

“Fear not, Jamison, I do not mean to hurt you. I was moved by your sad tale, you see, and I’ve come to aid you.” She pulled a glowing green crystal from thin air. _Her magic is real._ “Behold, good Doctor, I offer you that which you seek. The spark of life.” She offered forth the crystal, and almost instinctively Jamison snatched it. He could feel the energy flowing from it: it beat like a heart. _Like Mako’s heart… I’d recognize it anywhere_. In an instant, every memory he ever shared with Mako flashed before him. He thought—no, he _knew_ that he held Mako’s soul in his hands. It had to be. He felt his heart skip a beat and a tear trickle down his cheek. A small, feminine hand was placed almost caringly on his shoulder. “I want only one thing in return. A day will come when I call on you for a favor…”

“And no matter what that is, you _will honor_ it,” said the Witch’s headless servant.

Jamison did not think twice. He never did. He knew what his heart wanted and that was all that mattered.

“Bring me back my Mako.”

His gentle, loving Mako would be back. Maybe they could play at monsters and knights again. Maybe he could embrace him. Maybe they could watch the stars.

With fire in his eyes, he placed the crystal on his contraption and pulled the lever one more time.

 

_“The blast tore along like a mighty avalanche and produced a kind of insanity in my spirits that burst all bounds of reason and reflection.” _—‘Frankenstein’, Mary Shelley__

**Author's Note:**

> Keiggy writes her first actually shippy fanfic! Hope you guys like it! Took some real courage to put this one up, it's not something I often do.
> 
> [Buy me a Coffee](http://ko-fi.com/keiggy/) If you enjoyed reading this story. It would help tons. 


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